


Distress Signal

by BDBriggs



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M, it's got ryan haywood in it so if you're new don't read it but if you want to reminisce it's here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDBriggs/pseuds/BDBriggs
Summary: IMPORTANT:I wrote this before Ryan’s ugly parting from the company. I don’t condone what he’s done, at all, whatsoever, but I don’t want to erase the works I’ve created because of his poor choices. Please avoid this if you don't want to read anything with him in it.***Michael thinks social media just might be the end of him. The Murder Selfie group chat has been getting more and more competitive recently, especially with Gavin pestering him and Ray to join him on ridiculous crime-related escapades in search of the perfect selfie. Geoff and Jack usually let them do their thing as long as the expense reports don’t start climbing too high, but even Jack remarks that the whole thing is getting a little out of hand. Michael thinks it might kill one (or all) of them, and sooner rather than later, so he’s not prepared for trouble to land in someone else’s lap.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 109





	Distress Signal

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAHHHHHH I CAN FINALLY POST THIS =D
> 
> After the massive failure I had dividing Starbucks into chapters, I'm just posting this one whole. I took an extra week to polish it up and get it ready. With this, that concludes what I have finished in the Murder Selfie series SO FAR. There's more to come!!
> 
> Also, my least favorite part about this series is formatting the text messages. If it looks wonky and you have suggestions, hit me up! I'm happy to try something new, I can never get it quite right.

Michael thinks social media just might be the end of him. The Murder Selfie group chat has been getting more and more competitive recently, especially with Gavin pestering Michael and Ray to join him on ridiculous crime-related escapades in search of the perfect selfie. Geoff and Jack usually let them do their thing as long as the expense reports don’t start climbing too high, but even Jack remarks that the whole thing is getting a little out of hand. Michael thinks it might kill one (or all) of them, and sooner rather than later, so he’s not prepared for trouble to land in someone _else’s_ lap.

Gavin opens the door to Michael’s room in the middle of the night, fumbling the doorknob loudly. Michael bolts upright as Gavin all but throws himself towards the bed.

“We have to find, him, it’s bad,” Gavin is saying, his voice high and panicked, “I need _help_, boi, we’ve gotta _find_ him—"

Michael throws the covers off and steadies Gavin, holding him by the shoulders. “Slow down,” he orders, “start over. What’s going on? I’ll get dressed while you explain.”

“I got a _picture_,” Gavin says, and he sounds the most miserable Michael’s ever heard him. He pauses halfway into his jeans to look at the screenshot Gavin holds out to him. It’s a shitty picture of the stupid purple dinosaur at the diner near the windmill farm. It looks like it’s been taken through a hedge, although Michael knows for sure that there’s not much in the way of houses out that way. It’s grainy as hell, too, the dinosaur barely visible except that Michael _knows_ that stupid fucking dinosaur, knows the roads around it like the back of his hand from the amount of times they’ve driven through the windmill farm.

“Who’s it from?” Michael asks warily, stepping into the other leg of his jeans.

Gavin sniffles. “Vagabond. _Ryan_.”

Shit. It’s a far cry from the Vagabond’s usual murder selfies, lacking blood and bodies and fiery explosions in the background. “What happened?” Michael demands.

Gavin shakes his head. “I don’t _know_. This is all I’ve got.” He holds up his phone for Michael to see.

** Fashion Crime:**

A purple dinosaur is a shitty last thing to see.

** Gavino:**

Did you murder someone dressed as Barney?

** Fashion Crime:**

No

** Gavino:**

…?

** Fashion Crime:**

It’s a really shitty last thing to see

Insulting

Mocking me

** Gavino:**

ARE YOU OKAY???

** Fashion Crime:**

Not really

** > _Opened_**

** Gavino:**

JUST HANG ON OKAY

** Gavino:**

I’LL FIND YOU RYE

Well, shit. Michael fumbles for his leather jacket and tugs on his shoes. He and Gavin sprint to the elevator, heedless of the others sleeping nearby. “We’ll find him, Gav,” he mutters, fumbling to press the button to the garage, “we’ll get him. It looks like he’s north of the dinosaur. He’s gotta be on the hill somewhere. We’ll find him.”

Gavin’s shaking horribly, holding onto his phone like a lifeline. He’s got tear tracks down his face, his hair is mussed from sleep, and he’s wearing two different colored shoes. Michael grits his teeth. For Gavin’s sake, the Vagabond had _better_ be alive, dammit.

They practically dive out of the elevator. Michael grabs the key to his Adder, as well as the first aid kit stashed by Jack’s repair station. He’s never been so grateful for his reckless decision to get the fastest car money can buy, flooring it when they get to the freeway. The freeways are deserted at this time of night; he steps on the gas and doesn’t let up until the purple dinosaur comes in sight. He takes the offramp, screeches onto the surface streets on two wheels, and then dives off the street and up the hill.

He parks the car on the first level spot he finds. They can’t risk running over the Vagabond, especially if he’s dazed and injured. He could have crawled from his hiding spot in the time it took them to get here. Besides, the Adder doesn’t have the best traction offroad. Michael’s more likely to slip and slide into the Vagabond than he’s comfortable with.

“Search the bushes,” Michael mutters, and they split up to cover more ground. They spend the worst few minutes of their lives darting from bush to bush, checking each one for blood or even a scrap of leather. The search stretches on for what feels like an eternity, their hope dwindling with each passing minute.

Michael’s the one to find him. He spots a leg poking out near a low tree surrounded by shrubs in a little divot on the side of the hill. Poor guy probably fell off the hill and rolled to this position, he thinks with a grimace.

“Boi!” Michael calls, “I got him!” Sure enough, when the two of them peel the bushes back, that signature blue-and-black jacket is the first thing they see. The Vagabond’s on his stomach, mask pulled back over the top of his head, phone in his outstretched hand. Gavin pockets the phone and together they drag him out of the bushes.

He’s not dead, thankfully. He comes to with a groan, eyelids fluttering, head lolling to the side. “Nngh,” he manages, or something like it.

Gavin cradles his top half gently in his lap. “We’ve got you, Rye,” he says, and Michael tunes his platitudes out. The Vagabond’s black hair is painted red with blood, so Michael searches until he finds a nasty gash on the back of his head. While the blood must have slowed if he’s still alive, there’s still an alarming amount of it coating his jacket and jeans. Michael fumbles the first aid kit and peels the shirt and jacket back to reveal a mangled forearm and several bite marks near his hip.

Fuck. Looks like someone sent _dogs_ after him.

Michael shoves wads of gauze into Gavin’s hand. “Put pressure on the wounds,” he orders, hoping and praying that there isn’t anything worse than what he could see initially. “I’ll get the car.” He sprints downhill towards his car, slipping and falling on his ass twice in his haste. And it’s not easy, getting the Adder to cooperate uphill and offroad, but he manages it in a time even Jack would be proud of. Gavin slides the passenger seat all the way back and holds the Vagabond close, thankfully still putting pressure on the wounds.

Their chances don’t look great. The Vagabond _will_ die if they don’t get him to help in time, he knows. And if infection sets in later, he _still_ might not make it. Michael fumbles his phone with shaky fingers and calls Jack.

She picks up on the first ring. “What’s going on?” She demands.

“Gav’s friend is hurt,” Michael says shortly, “he needs help _now_, or he’s not going to make it. We’re heading back to the penthouse.”

Jack curses. “We’ll be ready,” she says, and Michael can hear the shuffling sound of her throwing off the blankets and standing up, maybe running. Thank _fuck_.

The drive back to the penthouse is the most stressful drive of Michael’s life. Gavin’s still crying, still murmuring assurances under his breath. The Vagabond doesn’t respond, though he does groan in pain a couple times. And Michael doesn’t like hearing the groans by any means, but each time he hears one, he spares a thought to be glad the guy’s still alive. When they get back, Michael pulls into the garage and doesn’t bother pulling into a spot—he drives right up to the elevator where Larry and Jack wait with a stretcher. Gavin’s got the door open before Michael stops, and he heaves the Vagabond out and onto the stretcher before Michael pulls the parking brake.

And just like that, it’s over. Michael breathes a shaky sigh of relief as he watches the elevator doors close, the four ascending to the infirmary. All Michael has to do now is wait. He sits there and breathes and shakes, bent over the steering wheel, until his car door opens and someone tugs his sleeve.

It’s Geoff.

“C’mon,” Geoff mutters, reaching around him to shut off the engine and unbuckle his seatbelt. “Don’t worry about the car, just c’mon. Let’s go up.” He keeps his hand on Michael’s shoulder all the way to the elevator, gently pushing him along.

Michael takes a shaky breath. “Gavin’s fucked up over it,” he blurts.

Geoff looks at him steadily. “So are you,” he points out, and he’s not _wrong_, but it’s Gavin they should both be worried about. Bringing that up just feels like a captain-obvious statement, though, so Michael doesn’t bother.

“I’ve never seen Gavin so upset,” he says instead. “He was panicked. Sobbing.”

Geoff purses his lips, but he doesn’t respond immediately. The elevator opens and instead of the infirmary, Michael is greeted by the sight of the penthouse common room. Geoff tugs him over to the bathroom where a fresh set of clothes sits on the counter.

“Clean yourself up,” he says, gesturing to the blood on Michael’s hands and shirt, “then we’ll talk.”

So Michael scrubs the blood away, changes into sweatpants and a clean T-shirt, and steps back out. Geoff’s bent over the stove making something, so Michael settles onto a stool at the counter and watches. He waits a few minutes before Geoff hands him a mug of hot chocolate, the good kind, if the rich smell of cinnamon is any indication. Michael takes a long swig and sighs.

Hot chocolate for the soul.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Geoff asks.

Michael grimaces. “I’m not sure. He was bleeding pretty heavily, and I’m not sure how recently it happened. And I’m worried about infection. He was still alive when we got here, though. Tough motherfucker.”

Geoff snorts a half-laugh. “He’d better make it, for Gavin’s sake,” he says.

“I thought the same thing,” Michael admits.

They sip hot chocolate together in silence for a few minutes. “What happened?” Geoff asks.

Michael shakes his head. “I’m not sure. He texted Gavin. I’m pretty sure he was dazed by pain and blood loss, what he was saying didn’t make a lot of sense.” He takes another swig, swirling the contents of his mug for a moment while he gathers his thoughts. “Gavin realized something was up and Vagabond sent him a picture of that stupid purple dinosaur by the wind farm. We figured out where he was and got him. Looks like he got mangled by attack dogs, and I think he fell and hit his head.”

Geoff grimaces. “Was there anyone else there?”

“No,” Michael says, surprised with his own answer, “he’s the only body I found. It looked like he’d fallen and rolled off the hill, though. There might have been bodies or signs of a struggle further up.”

Geoff nods. “Jack and I will deal with the fallout, if there is any,” he assures. “I just hope the guy makes it.”

Michael purses his lips. “Me too.”

They sip the rest of their hot chocolate together. Geoff sends him off to bed when the sky begins to lighten, promising updates on the Vagabond’s condition. Michael waves him off and heads downstairs to snatch a few hours of sleep.

Before he does, though, he makes sure his notifications are on full volume. If Gavin needs him, he’ll be there.

* * *

Michael wakes to the loudest notification chime he’s ever heard from his phone. Despite being considerably gentler than the wakeup call he received last night, it still sends him shooting upright and scrambling for his phone. He blearily blinks sleep from his eyes, struggling to see the screen. It’s almost noon, and yet he feels like he’s waking up before dawn with the difficulty he has waking the fuck up. He’s got a notification on his phone that he needs to check, though.

When his eyelids finally manage to cooperate, he realizes it’s a text from Gavin.

** Boi:**

You awake, boi?

Michael rolls his eyes and taps out a response.

** Michael:**

What’s up?

** Boi:**

Aw, I woke you up, didn’t I?

Well, yes, but Michael’s not going to admit to that, not in a million years. Gavin’s got enough on his plate without worrying over _him_, too. So he deflects instead of answering.

** Michael:**

Is he okay?

** Boi:**

Larry says he should make it

He’s pretty mangled, but he’s tough

He just hasn’t really come around yet.

Michael breathes a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to his chest dizzily. Thank _fuck_.

** Michael:**

Oh thank god.

** Boi:**

I just wanted to thank you

You saved his life

And yeah, fuck this, Michael thinks.

** Michael:**

Hold the fuck up

We both need coffee for this conversation.

Give me ten

Michael doesn’t wait to see Gavin’s response. He shuffles to the bathroom, yawning widely, before heading to the kitchen to make coffee. One of the others must be up because he finds a pot already made, still hot. He pours two big mugs, adds cream and a couple of sugars to Gavin’s, and walks to the elevator. He even manages to avoid spilling either mug when he uses his elbow to press the button to take him to the infirmary. Larry doesn’t stop him when he gets in, so he assumes either Gavin’s a complete wreck or the Vagabond’s in stable condition. Given the way Gavin wasn’t in hysterics over text, Michael’s betting on the latter.

He’s _hoping_ for the latter, at least.

Michael sets both their coffees down on the table beside the Vagabond’s bedside and wraps Gavin in a bear hug before he can get a word out of his mouth. Gavin turns into it immediately, curling his hands in the back of Michael’s shirt and clutching tightly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Michael mutters, despite the fact that he’s only taken a couple sips of coffee and Gavin hasn’t even touched his own. “You’re my _boi_. I’ll always be there if you need me.”

Gavin sniffles. _Fuck_, Michael thinks. He should have waited for the coffee to set in, to avoid the tears, but he didn’t want to wait for Gavin to start spouting nonsense. “Thanks, Michael,” Gavin says quietly. He pulls back and wipes the tears from his face. “I didn’t even know what to do. You saved his life.”

Michael wrinkles his nose. “I’m not the one who kept him from bleeding to death,” he points out. “Also, how the _fuck_ did you lift him in and out of the car without snapping your back in half?”

Gavin rolls his eyes and shoves at him a little. “Sod off,” he says, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Michael smiles and ruffled Gavin’s hair. He hands Gavin his coffee and picks up his own mug, taking a long sip. Gavin curls around his mug like a goddamn cat, leaching the warmth from it. He’s probably cold, Michael realizes; he’s only wearing the blue button-up shirt from the night before, and the infirmary is kept cold. There’s no way Michael will leave Gavin to his vigil alone just to grab a jacket, though—he texts Jack and asks her to grab a jacket for him whenever she heads down to the garage. 

Michael takes a moment to study the Vagabond. Larry hadn’t bothered cleaning the facepaint up, either to preserve his identity or because there were no wounds on his face, but it’s a goddamn mess. It’s smudged and smeared so far from the neat lines Michael remembers from the selfies, he hardly recognizes it as the Vagabond’s handiwork. His hair is messy, too, though it looks as though the blood has been washed out. Michael can’t see the back of his head, but he sincerely hopes Larry didn’t have to cut his hair to get to the gash. It’d be a shame to ruin it, especially since it’s even longer than Jack’s.

The Vagabond looks small and unassuming in the hospital bed, oxygen tube taped under his nose, wires sticking out from under the blankets, IV in the hand Gavin’s holding. It’s the first time Michael’s seen the Vagabond in person, not counting the night before or the heist where he only saw his car. Michael really would have preferred to shit his pants faced with a fully-armed and dangerous Vagabond compared to this.

This is just sad.

“Geoff visited a few hours ago,” Gavin says quietly. “He said Rye could stay here for a while, until he gets well enough to fend for himself.”

Michael nods. “Good,” he says. “That way he doesn’t have to worry about whoever the hell did this to him.”

Gavin looks a little less happy with the news. “He’s not gonna be thrilled,” he says, looking down at the hand in his. “He prefers to work on his own. And he’s going to go stir crazy.”

The thought of a stir-crazy Vagabond cooped up in the penthouse is fucking _nightmare fuel_, but Michael shoves that thought down for the moment. “He’s not _working_ with the Fakes,” he points out. “He’s getting some protection from your crew while shit dies down and he gets better.”

Gavin purses his lips. “I suppose that’s true,” he admits. “I’ll have to phrase it that way when I tell him. Hopefully he’ll take the news well.”

Michael squeezes Gavin’s shoulder before settling down in the hospital chair next to him. It’s going to be a long wait.

Their vigil is only interrupted by Jack bringing them both plates of eggs and bacon, one of Gavin’s hoodies draped over her arm. She dumps the hoodie on Gavin’s head, prompting a round of startled squawking that Michael sincerely wishes he caught on camera. After that it’s dull, but they spend the time playing games on their phones and taking ugly selfies on snapchat. The lads’ group chat ends up inundated with ugly selfies once Ray joins in from a stakeout in Grapeseed.

The hours pass in a daze until Gavin gasps sharply. Michael whips his head up to look at him. He’s looking down at the bed with one hand jammed over his mouth, so he follows Gavin’s gaze over to the bed. The Vagabond’s eyes are open, and he’s blinking and looking around blearily.

Michael doesn’t dare move, not wanting to draw the Vagabond’s attention to himself. 

The Vagabond’s eyes land on Gavin, finally, and it takes a couple of moments for his eyes to focus before he breaks into a little smile.

“Gav?” He croaks, voice rough.

Gavin leans forward, still clutching his hand. “Rye!” He chirps, “You’re awake!”

The Vagabond shifts a little and winces. “Kinda wish I wasn’t,” he mutters, but he tugs his hand from Gavin’s grip and reaches up to cup his cheek. Gavin looks like he might cry.

Michael would stay to comfort Gavin, really he would, but he doesn’t _particularly_ want to watch his best friend kiss a sociopathic murderer, so he stands and squeezes Gavin’s shoulder.

“I’ll let the others know he’s not gonna kick the bucket,” Michael says. “Text me if you need me.”

The Vagabond makes brief eye contact with him, and Michael is struck by how unsurprised he looks. The image stays with him as he leaves the infirmary and ascends in the elevator back up to the common room. Did the Vagabond remember much of the night before? Or had he known Gavin, and by extension the Fakes, would come for him?

Michael’s startled to see it’s already dark outside when he walks into the living room. Jack and Geoff are in the kitchen; Geoff sitting on a stool at the counter and tapping away at his laptop while Jack cooks. Both do a double take when they see him.

“Didn’t think you’d leave Gavin alone unless someone dragged you away,” Jack comments mildly.

Michael snorts and plunks down on the stool next to Geoff. “Vagabond’s awake,” he shrugs, “I figured I’d give them a moment. Gavin looked like he was going to cry.”

Jack raps her spoon against the pot to clean it off before setting it down and joining them at the counter. “You think he’ll be okay?”

“They’ll both be fine,” Michael nods, “Vagabond’s a little fucked up, and Gavin’s still shaken, but Larry says the Vagabond will recover.” He grins at Jack. “Besides, it looks like Gavin’ll get the chance to fuss over him all he wants for at least a few days.”

Jack lets out a short laugh. “You’re not wrong,” she agrees.

Michael turns to Geoff. “Thanks for letting the Vagabond stay here,” he says. “It means the world to Gavin.”

Geoff rolls his eyes and shuts his laptop. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, “it was totally my decision.”

Jack looks suspiciously innocent.

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t,” Michael shrugs, “but you still gave the go-ahead. So thank you.”

Geoff makes a face at him. “I technically owe him,” he says, folding his hands on the counter. “He saved all our asses in the bank heist, especially Gavin’s.”

And it’s easier to think about it like that, right? Eye for an eye, one good deed deserves another, all that crap. Easier to justify than admitting you’ve got a soft spot a mile wide for a moronic British thief. Michael has no problem admitting it himself; cheesy declarations of friendship are his _job_ in his relationship with Gavin. One minute he’s snarling about how he’s going to _kill_ the moron; the next he’s promising he’ll do _anything_ for his boi.

But Geoff? Jack? The two older, more experienced, hardened criminals in the crew? It’s safer for both of them to keep their soft spots covered, even if _everyone_ in the crew has a huge soft spot for Gavin.

The Roosters had a pretty damn big soft spot for the moron, too, if the stories Geoff and Gavin tell are any indication. Michael keeps thinking on the fact that Burnie let Gavin go, released him to the care of the Fakes after Gavin discovered Ryan’s supposed death. Despite not knowing anything of the situation, Burnie let one of his best agents go _just to keep him happy_. On top of that, the rest of the Roosters didn’t argue; in fact, several _supported_ the move, including Meg.

It hits Michael with crystal clarity, then, that the Fakes and the Roosters and their associates aren’t even the people with the biggest soft spot for Gavin. No, that award goes to someone else. 

It goes to the man who accepted the consequences of a life of crime because he cared for Gavin. It goes to the man who helped Gavin clean up dead bodies, moral compass be damned. It goes to the man who taught Gavin to throw knives and shoot guns. It goes to the man who sends murder selfies to Gavin to keep him entertained, even after _years_ apart. It goes to the man who extended a hand to help Gavin’s crew, despite the job being far below his pay grade, just because Gavin asked him to.

The Vagabond might be the biggest softie of them all.

* * *

Michael spends the next few days fixing cars in the garage.

His car was only a little scuffed up from diving off the road and then driving up the mountain. One of their mechanics could easily fix it in a couple hours. But Gavin’s still spending all his time with the Vagabond in the infirmary, and since the Vagabond’s awake more often now, Michael doesn’t want to intrude. He’d prefer to be nearby in case Gavin needs him for something, moral support or otherwise, so he spends his time in the garage.

The only two people who know his ticks well enough to call him out on it are Ray and Jack. Michael’s not too worried about getting called out on it; Ray’s still on a job out in Grapeseed and Jack joins him in fixing all the cars in the garage with the same nervous energy. And Michael’s not sure when he developed the same mother-hen tendencies as Jack, but he’s pretty sure no one besides her has noticed yet, thank _fuck_. So he and Jack hang out in the garage and fret and pretend not to fret by fixing cars.

“What’s he like, do you know?” Jack asks. Michael can barely hear her over the music blasting from the speakers on the nearby workbench, plus the fact that she’s fully underneath Ray’s Adder.

Michael shrugs, even though she can’t see it. “I dunno,” he says, “he wasn’t terribly coherent when I saw him.” He hands her the socket wrench when she waves an empty hand at him. “He sure as hell cares about Gavin, though.”

“Good,” Jack says. “If he hurts Gav, I’m gonna murder him.”

Michael snorts. “I mean, good luck,” he says, half-laughing, “he’s got a kill count higher than the whole crew combined.”

Jack pulls herself out from underneath the Adder and grins at Michael. “You think I could manage a murder-suicide?”

Michael barks out a laugh. “What, you gonna give him a hug with some explosives?”

“Might work,” Jack shrugs, laughing a little as she makes her way over to the bench and sits down. “Just so you know, Geoff’s completely in denial about them dating.”

And that’s not _news_, exactly? Geoff pointedly turned a blind eye to the whole _dating_ thing several times, much to everyone’s amusement. Michael hadn’t been sure if it was real or joking denial, though, and Jack’s statement makes him pause.

“He’s not oblivious,” Michael says. “So what’s he hung up about?”

Jack holds her hands up, and Michael gets the impression that this is somewhat of an old argument to her. “No fucking clue,” she says, “I haven’t gotten him to talk about it. I think he’s just wary of the Vagabond?”

It’s reasonable. The Vagabond isn’t exactly known for making _friends_ in Los Santos. “Vagabond clearly cares an awful lot about Gavin,” Michael says again. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about on that front.”

“Geoff has to worry for his crew,” Jack points out.

Michael scrunches his nose. “The Vagabond _helped_ our crew because Gavin asked him to. Again, _he cares about Gavin_. And Gavin cares about the Fakes, so by extension, Vagabond has somewhat of a soft spot for us.” Michael shrugs. “At the very least, I think he’ll leave us alone if we stay out of his way. That’s the way it’s been so far.”

Jack hums. “You’re not wrong,” she says, and they leave it at that and turn their attention back to Ray’s Adder.

At least until Geoff drives into the garage an hour later and gives Michael a dull look on his way to the elevator. “Since when did you get the same mother-hen coping mechanism as Jack?” He demands. “Gavin’s fine. The Vagabond’s fine. Stop hovering, both of you.” He scowls at them and punches the button for the elevator with more force than necessary.

“Well, fuck,” Michael says succinctly.

“Yup,” Jack agrees, “busted.” They stand there, frozen, until the elevator departs. Then she turns to him with an impish grin. “Wanna go blow something up?”

And that’s that.

* * *

They return hours later, slightly singed and covered in ash and debris. Geoff probably won’t appreciate the expense reports and news articles from their latest adventure, but hell, he’s the one who called them out for being productive and made them leave the garage in the first place. Geoff can suck it.

Anyways. When they ascend to the living room, the first thing Michael notices is a dress shoe dangling over the top of the couch. He and Jack trade a_ look_ before heading over to see what the fuck is up.

Upon closer inspection, the dress shoe belongs to Geoff, and Geoff is still attached to it. He’s faceplanted into the couch, one leg draped up over the back, the other flung over the armrest. It looks uncomfortable. To be honest, it looks downright _painful_.

Jack tuts disapprovingly, and Geoff flips them off as the sound leaves her mouth.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Michael asks dryly.

Geoff groans. He pulls his head out of the cushions just far enough to say, “I need fucking brain bleach. Fucking _Gavin_.”

Huh.

Michael fumbles to catch onto the implications of that statement. Brain bleach? Gavin? _Fucking_? Looks like Geoff walked in on something dirty. A wolfish grin spreads slowly across Michael’s face. “Was he fucking Gavin, or the other way around?” He asks.

Geoff plugs his ears immediately. “I don’t want to hear it!” He yelps, “Laalaalaa! I can’t hear you!”

And that sets Michael off, cackling like a goddamn hyena. Jack isn’t far behind, leaning on Michael and wiping tears from her eyes. Geoff throws a couch cushion at them with surprising force, nailing Jack in the ribs, so they book it downstairs and out of range of projectile cushions.

“Holy _shit_,” Jack breathes, stifling her laughter a bit. “I can’t believe he walked in on them!”

Michael has less luck with stifling his cackling, and frankly? He doesn’t care. “He walked in on them!” He crows, “The person who’s totally in denial about the whole thing _walked in on them!”_

It sets Jack off again. The two of them stand in the hall, giggling loudly, leaning against each other and against the walls for support. And they would have continued for _god knows_ how long, if a muffled _thump_ hadn’t sounded against one of the doors.

“Was that Gavin’s door?” Jack mutters, twisting around to see where the sound came from. It certainly came from the direction of Gavin’s room, Michael thinks, but it could have been Ray’s room, too.

“I don’t know,” Michael frowns, “his or Ray’s. Is Ray still on that job up in Grapeseed?”

Jack scratches the back of her neck. “He isn’t scheduled to be back yet.”

They trade an uncertain glance. If Gavin’s in the infirmary with the Vagabond, and Ray’s in Grapeseed, there shouldn’t be anyone else here. Geoff’s on the couch upstairs, unless he fell through the floor and landed two dozen feet away.

Could someone have broken in?

It’s an ugly thought. The only “breach” they’ve had is the fact that they let the Vagabond into the penthouse. Surely he wouldn’t fuck the Fakes over, right? They’d saved his _life_. Gavin’s in their crew. He wouldn’t just throw his relationship with Gavin away to get one-up on them, right?

But Michael doesn’t know the Vagabond. Neither does Gavin, really, if the way he talks about _Ryan_ and _the Vagabond_ as two separate people is any indication. There’s no telling what he’ll do. And Michael remembers what Gavin told them about the military job, about finding a burnt shell of a building with no traces of Ryan to speak of, about texting the Vagabond years later _by accident_. He remembers wondering what the military _did_ to turn a law-abiding bounty hunter into the Vagabond.

Michael doesn’t have his pistol on him, but he sure as _fuck_ has his fists. A quick glance at Jack confirms she has her pistol out and ready, safety off. There’s no time to waste, especially if the Vagabond has Gavin in there with him, so Michael storms up to Gavin’s door and yanks it open wide—

And sees—

—The first thing he registers is that he’s looking at entirely too much skin. The second thing he registers is the pure _domesticity_ of the scene in front of him. Gavin’s laying on his back, settled comfortably against the pillows, looking a little bit like a deer caught in the headlights. The Vagabond lays on his side, one arm flung over Gavin’s middle, his head resting on Gavin’s chest. He looks for all the world like the cat that got the canary; he’s grinning lazily, eyes crinkling, and he makes no move to cover himself or Gavin. Several bandages stand out brightly against his skin. It takes a moment for Michael to realize that the Vagabond’s face is bare of paint, and when he does, he quickly averts his eyes. The sheets are pooled around their hips, so he snaps his eyes up to the ceiling.

“Jesus _Christ!” _Michael yelps, “put some clothes on for fuck’s sake!”

“You busted into my room!” Gavin shrieks, fumbling with the sheets, “I would’ve covered us up if I’d known you’d open the door!”

Jack’s laughing behind them, pistol tucked out of sight, and Michael vaguely hears Geoff screaming _I told you so!_ from upstairs. Michael buries his face in his hands. “I didn’t know you were out of the infirmary,” he protests. “I heard a noise in your room and went to look!”

“I threw something at the door because you were being loud!” Gavin says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You woke ‘im up!”

Ah. So _that’s_ what the thump was. Michael looks down to see the Vagabond’s rubber skull mask crumpled in a heap on the floor. He picks it up carefully. It’s not just one of the cheap rubber masks they sell at Vespucci. No, the Vagabond modified it; the inside is padded enough that it resembles a helmet more than a mask. There’s a fitted piece around the jaw that looks like it filters out smoke and chemicals. There’s mesh to protect his eyes. The outside is scratched and burned and dented from years of gang-warfare and messy jobs. It’s clearly well-loved and taken care of.

Michael looks back up at the bed. The Vagabond’s lost his lazy smile, but he makes firm eye contact with him, and they hold it for a moment before Michael nods.

“You hurt Gavin, I’m gonna break your face,” he says simply, and he walks close enough to hand the mask to him.

The Vagabond smiles. It’s not a mean smile, either, nothing like the crazed and deranged grins Michael has seen in the news, or like the confident grins he’s seen in murder selfies. It’s small, just a little quirk of lips, and Michael is struck by its sincerity.

“That’s fair,” the Vagabond nods, and he takes his mask back, setting it down on the bed beside him. “If your crew hurts him, I’m gonna murder you all,” he says, his smile widening just a touch, eyes crinkling.

Michael nods. “Also fair,” he says.

Gavin rolls his eyes. “I’m not a damsel in distress,” he grumbles, “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

Everyone ignores him.

Michael shrugs. “Hope you feel better,” he says with a little salute, and he turns and walks out of Gavin’s room. Jack’s still giggling in the hall, but she closes the door behind them, and they head back towards the stairs together. “I’m gonna fucking kill Geoff,” Michael grumbles. That fucker should have warned them.

“Say that louder,” Jack says, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face.

Michael huffs. Eh, what the fuck, why not? “I’m gonna fucking _kill_ Geoff!” He yells, stomping upstairs unnecessarily loudly.

Jack’s a shitty actor sometimes. She can’t stop giggling as she pretends to corral him towards the elevator, away from the living room where Geoff’s scrambling to put as much space between them as possible. Michael can’t quite bring himself to care, not when he sees the way Geoff is practically shitting bricks as he vaults over the coffee table to get away from him. Besides, maybe this way he and Jack can work in the garage without getting heckled. It’d be real fucking nice.

They settle down to work on Gavin’s stupid mirrored motorcycle, beers and tools in easy reach. It’s familiar and comforting and _everything_ Michael’s wanted for the past few days, at least until the garage door opens.

Ray drives in on a Sanchez, covered in dirt and dust from driving offroad.

“Didn’t you leave here in a car?” Jack asks, taking a sip from her beer. Michael has no idea how she can look so condescending wearing a greasy tank top and short shorts, hair falling out of a messy bun, beer in hand, but she sure as hell manages it.

Ray shrugs. “Shit happens,” he says. And he looks over at Michael, brows knitting together in thought.

“Nuh uh,” Michael says, “don’t even say it. Geoff’s trying to bleach his brain through shitty TV. Gavin’s with the Vagabond in his room, don’t go in there unless you want to end up like Geoff.” He crosses his arms. “Jack and I are fixing cars and you can fucking _shut it_.”

Ray lifts his arms in surrender and grins. “You two have fun,” he says, “I’m gonna shower and knock the fuck out.”

“Good,” Michael says firmly, “glad to hear it. Get the fuck out of the garage.”

Ray laughs all the way to the elevator, and Michael can hear him laughing even when it closes, the bastard. But it buys him and Jack a peaceful night tinkering in the garage, so what does he care?

He and Jack take a selfie, too, with Gavin’s motorcycle completely dismantled behind them, the two of them wearing matching grins and covered in grease. They send it to Gavin with the caption, _Make sure to treat him better than everything else you ride ;) _and then turn their phones to silent to escape from the volley of indignant texts they’re about to receive.

It feels good to beat Gavin at his own game, Michael thinks, although he’s certain he’ll rue the day he attempted a murder selfie. And honestly, if payback gets Gavin to stop worrying so much about his boyfriend? _Good_, Michael thinks. _Bring it on_.

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it! Gavin and Ryan are confirmed to be in a relationship again. The stick remains up Geoff's ass, with few attempts on his part to remove it. Jack starts to come around to the fact that the Vagabond might not be all that bad. Ray still thinks this is all just hilarious. 
> 
> And Gavin just might murder them for taking his bike apart, but that's a story for another time =)
> 
> Thank you for reading!! <3


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